


Qui Vivra Verra

by IsoldeArcher



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Recovery, Sexual Slavery, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsoldeArcher/pseuds/IsoldeArcher
Summary: Peli hesitated.  “Look, it don’t feel right to take this.”  She held up a hand to forestall his protest as his indrawn breath crackled through his modulator.  An idea had occurred to her that would settle his debt and assuage the guilt that had been eating at her for the last several months.  “If you really want to repay me for the trouble, there’s something you can do for me.”The Mandalorian took his foot off the ship’s ramp and shifted the Child to his other arm.  “Name it,” he grunted.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Peli Motto & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 193





	1. Salvia - "I'll Think of You"

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shout-out to everyone who encouraged me to post and endured my insanity while working on this. Thanks especially to [Kata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DifferentFrequency) and [Fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacefoxen) for beta-ing and [Maggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggie_Goldenstar1530) for her guidance!
> 
> Please note: I will update tags as I post to help keep spoilers to a minimum. If anything particularly triggering is added, I will specifically mention it in my author's note.
> 
> Disclaimer: Several chapters of this fic use/will use dialogue directly from The Mandalorian. This dialogue was taken from wikitranscripts and no copyright infringement is intended -- I have written this entirely for my own pleasure and seek no profit from it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If every time I thought of you a star fell, well, the sky would be empty.

The suns were well past their zenith but the heat was still nearly suffocating, even in the shade. The Mandalorian had wasted precious time chasing after the slain hunter’s dewback. He was exhausted. His armor was covered in dust and sand had worked its way in between the gaps and settled in his base layers and boots. He wanted - in no particular order - a drink (water would be a good start, but something stronger would not go amiss), a shower (with real water, not just a sonic), and food (preferably something hearty but a ration bar - anything - would do at this point). Actually, the first thing he wanted was to make sure the Child was all right; he’d been away for much longer than he intended and he doubted the little one’s presence had gone unnoticed by the mechanic back at the bay. But Fennec Shand’s twisted corpse told him all he needed to know: that none of those things would be happening anytime soon.

He had known _something_ was wrong the moment his audio sensors hadn’t picked anything up as he made his approach. The kid rarely shut his mouth long enough for them to do their job and so the silence had quickly settled like a stone in his gut. With one hand on his blaster, he drew closer, only lowering his guard when the lone heat signature he registered through the head-up display in his helmet was Shand’s cooling body.

He heaved a sigh and turned his mount towards Mos Eisley.

Dusk had fallen and quickly turned to true night. With the disappearance of the suns, the temperature dropped rapidly but heat still radiated upwards as the Mandalorian made his way through the empty streets. It felt like a ghost town; even the drunks had stumbled their way home or were sleeping it off in the dark corners of some alleyway or cantina. He had known that there was no hope of beating Toro Calican back with the dewback’s lumbering gait so it was no surprise to see the remaining speeder bike parked outside Peli Motto’s repair bay. The eerie silence set his nerves afire and Mando ground his teeth as he drew his blaster. If anything had happened to the Child...no, Calican might be incredibly stupid, but surely not _that_ stupid. Mando pushed the thought out of his mind; it would do him no good to consider the _what-ifs_ , he just had to go in there and _do his kriffing job_. He stalked into the shop, his footsteps nearly inaudible over the layer of sand that blanketed everything. Slowly, slowly, he scanned his surroundings.

A clatter to his left drew his attention, but it was just one of Peli’s droids. It skittered across his path and into the office, cowering with the others before ducking out of sight. Though it made his skin crawl, the Mandalorian forced the droids out of his mind; they weren’t the threat ( _this time_ , a corner of his mind whispered treacherously), the hunter was. He took a few steps in the direction it had come from. He was just considering switching from night vision to thermal to scan for heat signatures when the kid’s voice rang out through the still of the night. “Took you long enough, Mando,” he called casually.

The Mandalorian immediately fixed his gaze on his ship’s hold, approaching the _Razor Crest_ ’s ramp with blaster outstretched and no small amount of trepidation. Calican emerged from the shadows with a triumphant swagger, the Child in one arm and the mechanic at gunpoint. Peli's face was lined with fear as she grimaced. “Looks like I’m calling the shots now - huh, partner?” Toro drawled, traces of mockery seeping into his words.

The bounty hunter adjusted his grip on the trigger, looking for a clear shot. There wasn’t one. 

“Drop your blaster and raise ’em,” Calican ordered.

Mando hesitated a moment, calculating his options. A plan - risky, but not as risky as trying to shoot around two hostages - began to form in his mind and he decided to run with it. He tossed the weapon on the ground just in front of the ramp. Then his hands came to rest behind his helmet in resignation.

Toro jabbed the barrel of his blaster between Peli’s shoulder blades. “Cuff him.”

Peli muttered in disgust but shuffled the rest of the way down the ramp anyway. She could taste the bitterness of disappointment on her tongue at how easily the Mandalorian had given up to this...this _punk_ . Then again, she mused, _that punk_ had his kid. And hadn’t she done the same just months ago when - _no_. This wasn’t the time for that.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando,” Calican continued, holding his weapon trained on the Mandalorian and the mechanic. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.”

Well, that certainly explained a lot, Peli mused.

There was a click as the binders fell open. Peli’s breath stuttered in a quiet gasp as the Mandalorian opened his hand just enough that she could see the flash grenade he held. “You’re smarter than you look,” she whispered and he suppressed a snort.

“Fennec was right; bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild,” Toro said. “It’ll make me legendary.” He took aim.

Time seemed to slow. Peli felt a flush of fear, knowing that she was no use to the young hunter once the Mandalorian was dead. _He has a plan_ , she reminded herself. _You just need someplace out of the way._ She would only have a second once -

Mando deployed the grenade; the resulting explosion lit up the bay and would have blinded him if he hadn’t known it was coming. He groped for his blaster as he rolled to the side, vaguely hoping the mechanic had found cover as well. 

Toro Calican shouted out in pain and frustration as he lost sight of his target, squeezing his eyes shut against the glare. He discharged his blaster towards the Mandalorian’s last known position - once, twice, three times and then a fourth for good measure. His vision cleared at the same time he heard the movement to his right but he barely brought his weapon around in time for the Mandalorian’s shot to catch him in the chest. The would-be bounty hunter tumbled off the ramp with a choked grunt and landed in an undignified heap on the sandy shop floor.

Peli materialized from behind the crate where she had taken shelter, a hitch in her step as she limped towards the Mandalorian. Her knees weren’t made for running and twisting anymore and she had done both, on top of hitting the ground hard when she dove out of the line of fire. 

Mando waved her away. “Stay back,” he cautioned. If Calican wasn’t dead, he didn’t want her to end up collateral damage.

“Gotta get it,” she murmured but hesitated, hanging back while the Mandalorian rolled the kid over. His blaster slipped out of his limp fingers. Mando allowed himself to relax marginally - only to realize that the Child was nowhere to be found.

Peli crept up behind him. “Where is it?” she asked anxiously, casting about for any sign of the little one.

_‘I don’t know!’_ the Mandalorian wanted to scream as he glanced frantically from side to side. There were so many places something that small could hide. His breath started to come in shallow pants. Had he hit the Child when he shot Calican? What if he was hurt? What if he couldn’t find him in time? Stars, he shouldn’t have taken that risk…

Soft babbling drew their attention as the Child stuck its head out from behind a cylinder. Tension seeped out of Din’s shoulders as Peli knelt and scooped the little one up. “There you are,” she cooed. “Are you hiding from us? Huh? Look at you.” She stood, turning towards the Mandalorian but continuing to address the little one. “That’s all right, I know. That was really loud for your big old ears, wasn’t it?”

She bounced him gently, trying to disguise the trembling in her limbs, as Mando knelt and pulled a pouch off of Toro’s belt. “It’s ok, shh, shh, shh,” she soothed. The baby babbled up at her, even as she reluctantly handed him over to the Mandalorian. “Be careful with him,” she cautioned.

Her patronizing tone had Mando’s teeth clenching behind the helmet but he took the Child with no small amount of relief. Something in his chest loosened as he finally held the infant and he forced his breathing to slow.

Peli shuffled her feet awkwardly, swinging her arms. “So, I take it you didn’t get paid?” she inquired, hating herself a little for asking the question after everything that had just happened. The bounty hunter turned his visor to her and she could almost feel the sardonic gaze behind the darkened glass. Her hands found her hips and she sighed in resignation. This is what she got for not insisting on payment up front -

But the Mandalorian held Calican’s pouch out and waited until she cupped her hands below it before upending the contents into her waiting palms. “That cover me?” he asked gruffly. 

Peli’s mouth fell open in surprise - this was enough to cover the work she’d done _and more_ , much more. But then she sighed. “Here, take them,” she grumbled, shoveling the currency back into the bag. “You need them more than I do.” As much as it pained her to give up the revenue, she couldn’t take food out of the mouth of the babe.

The cool night breeze stirred the Mandalorian’s cape. He tilted his head to the side, considering the mechanic as the Child let out a soft _coo_. “I pay my debts,” he said simply, then gestured broadly at the shop. “I’ve put you through a lot of trouble and this is the least I can do.”

Peli scoffed. “Real heart of gold you’ve got there, bounty hunter. Listen, there’s two of you and one of me and it don’t take much to keep me and the droids going. You work hard and he’s a growing…well, whatever he is.” She hesitated. “Look, it don’t feel right to take this.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest as his indrawn breath crackled through his modulator. An idea had occurred to her that would settle his debt _and_ assuage the guilt that had been eating at her for the last several months. “If you really want to repay me for the trouble, there’s something you can do for me.”

The Mandalorian took his foot off the ship’s ramp and shifted the Child to his other arm. “Name it,” he grunted.

“I used to have an assistant.” Peli cleared her throat, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Sharp as the edge of your blade there, and that’s no exaggeration.”

“What happened?” the bounty hunter prompted.

“Ghent Suvan,” Peli growled, fingers clenching around the bag of credits. “Local gangster, moved in here after the Hutts left. He and his goons come around every so often to take payment for ‘protection’. Well, I didn’t have enough credits or firepower to keep them off last time so they took her instead.”

The helmet tilted again as the Mandalorian tried to puzzle through the information. “What use does a gangster have for a mechanic’s assistant?”

A soft scoff escaped Peli’s lips. “Trust me,” she said. “You’ll know it when you see her.” Before she could say more, one of the pit droids skidded to a halt in front of them and babbled something in binary. “I don’t know!” Peli replied, her voice rising to nearly a whine at the end. “Drag it to Beggar’s Canyon!”

The droid saluted her and scrabbled back to the others, each grabbing one of Calican’s limbs. They lugged him out of the hangar, chattering amongst themselves until their voices were lost in the silence of the desert night. 

“Where can I find this...Ghent Suvan?” the Mandalorian pressed the mechanic.

Peli gestured vaguely towards the dunes. “He took up in an old inn out on the edge of town, used to be _The Modest Smuggler_. Got a friend with a speeder who can take you out there in the morning. Or whenever you wake up,” she added, shifting her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Take it you’re pretty wore out. I got some bonzabeast stew leftover from feeding the little one earlier; you’re welcome to it.”

The Mandalorian hesitated. "I'd prefer to eat on my ship," he answered, “without the Child. If that’s not a problem.”

"Of course you would," Peli said with a wave of her hand and a twinge of annoyance. "I'll bring it up to you. He can stay with me.” She reached over and plucked the baby from the bounty hunter’s arms. As she turned to walk towards her living quarters, she began to fuss over him. “That’s right! _You_ can stay with _me_ \- oh, we have such _fun_ together!”

Something lodged itself in the Mandalorian’s throat as he watched the mechanic’s retreating form. Her words from earlier came back to haunt him - _“You can’t just leave a child all alone like that. You know, you’ve got an awful lot to learn about raising a little one!_ ” - and, not for the first time since he’d blasted his way out of the safe house, he felt the hot flush of shame on his face. It was nothing short of the truth; but it was also true that Mando would have preferred to leave the Child on Sorgan, _anywhere_ that wasn’t _with him_ because _with him_ was often synonymous with _in danger_ . He heaved a sigh and climbed the ramp into the _Razor Crest_ to try to wash off the dust of the day - and maybe some of the guilt, too, while he was at it.

\--- 

The suns were just cresting the horizon when she finally worked up the courage to slide out of the bed, drawing a sharp breath as the shackles around her wrists, ankles, and throat bit into skin rubbed raw by the ill-fitting durasteel. Ghent Suvan rolled over, muttering sleepily. “Where d’you think you’re goin’?”

“The refresher,” she murmured in thickly accented Basic, keeping her eyes downcast.

He grunted in assent or acknowledgment, she wasn’t sure. Before he could change his mind, she scampered for the relative safety and privacy of the little room adjacent to his quarters. The door closed behind her and she pressed her back to it, sliding down to sit on the floor and bury her face in trembling hands. She allowed herself a moment to _feel_ the fear, the futility, the self-pity before drawing a ragged breath and forcing herself to her feet. Slowly, though - too fast and she’d wind up right back where she started.

Out of habit, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Gaunt eyes and sunken cheeks looked back at her and she felt a stab of satisfaction. She could almost begin to count her ribs. Suvan might have taken away her chance at freedom but the half-portions he allowed her to eat were a double-edged sword: they kept her too weak to be anything but compliant yet she could see him growing more disinterested in her by the day as she grew thinner and thinner. Still, there was steel under her bearing; her people were proud, hard to break, although she was getting dangerously close.

Quietly, she edged the cabinet under the sink open, mindful not to let the hinges creak. She ran her fingers along the recess that formed the faux drawer just beneath the sink bowl, pleased to note that the items she had stashed there were all accounted for. She had collected nearly enough parts to rig her own crude blaster should she get an uninterrupted moment from her master to assemble it.

The problem she then faced would be how to _use_ the blaster. While she might be able to kill Suvan in his sleep, there was no way for her to make her way out of the building unaccosted. He had too many men and she was in no shape physically to fight off even a single one, never mind several of them. Even if she did manage to get away by some small miracle, she doubted she could make it to the docks without attracting attention.

There was another option, but she was loath to take it.

Before her silence or absence could arouse Suvan’s suspicion (which, more often than not, led to rousing his ire), she eased the cabinet closed again. She used the toilet and splashed some water on her face as she washed her hands, cold water invigorating her. She paused a moment more to delay the inevitable, glancing down at the amulet around her neck as it clinked softly against her chains. It was her only possession that had survived her enslavement all those years ago when the Zygerrians had boarded the transport. She regarded it with a certain amount of bitterness, for it was the amulet that had sealed her fate.

The Zygerrians had been more than pleased to discover a Servant of Naamah among the passengers. _‘Worth her weight in gold,’_ they had purred, rubbing their hands together with greedy pleasure.

Since that day, several of the masters she had served had made it their mission to turn her vows into a mockery of what they had once been. Servants of Naamah could choose those on whom they wished to bestow their gifts; a slave could not. Here, at least, the amulet only invited leering glances or loaded suggestions from Suvan’s thugs, but never more than that.

She belonged to Ghent Suvan and he would kill any sentient who laid a hand on his property.

She emerged from the ’fresher, sparing a glance at the bed. Suvan lay motionless, snoring softly. Relief flooded her limbs at the thought that she could have a few more precious moments to herself. She made for the terrace on the opposite side of the room. Being in the open air where she could breathe again, more than the stale air of the abandoned waystation, where she could see the rolling dunes and the lightening sky - it might be only an illusion of true freedom but she would take what she could get, for now.

Once on the terrace, she fell to her knees. “ _Elua, if you have any compassion for your child, send me a sign,”_ she prayed quietly in her native tongue. _“Naamah, take pity on your servant.”_ She swallowed around the lump in her throat. _“Kushiel, if this is punishment for my transgressions, have mercy; have I not atoned enough?”_ If she thought any of the other gods were listening, she would have pleaded her case with them as well. Instead, she fell silent, waiting. A chill worked its way up her body from where the stone met her knees while the warmth of the early sunlight trickled down from above.

She lost track of how long she knelt there, eyes flying open with a gasp as a heavy hand closed itself on her shoulder. “Makin’ your daily devotions, little priestess?” Ghent sneered, digging his fingers into her flesh. “Why don’t you come back to bed and make your devotions to me instead?”

With leaden limbs and heavy heart, she rose and followed him back into the room. If this was the sign she had asked for, her gods had abandoned her.


	2. Begonia - "Beware, Dark Thoughts"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
> 
> John Keats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated.
> 
> Trigger warning: This chapter contains suicidal thoughts as well as further reference to sexual trauma.

If her gods had abandoned her, the D’Angeline would just have to take matters into her own hands. Making that decision was the easy part; figuring out _how_ was something else entirely.  
  


Keeping Ghent happy took little of her art. His tastes ran towards the banal: the only pleasure he was interested in was his own and the niceties of D’Angeline lovemaking were wasted on him. Once he had finished “paying homage to Naamah” (always said with a sneer, as if it were some sort of joke - he had probably heard an associate use the phrase, thought it sounded clever, and decided to repeat it _ad nauseum_ like some sort of demented Kowakian monkey-lizard), he would pull on whatever clothes were cleanest and leave her to her own devices. Unless, of course, one of those associates was visiting - then he would at least shower before dressing and insisting she dance attendance on them. Those occasions were few and far between, however, and this was thankfully not one of those days.

  
As soon as the door closed behind him, she donned the first robe that came to hand and hurried to the refresher. One of Suvan’s men had left a spanner behind when he came to fix the leaking showerhead and she used it now to remove the control panel cover and disable the door. If anyone came looking for her, she could easily feign distress long enough to reactivate the panel and blame it on a technical malfunction. No one saw more than just a pretty face when it came to D’Angelines.

  
Part of her wanted nothing more than to use her stolen bit of solitude to stand under the spray of water and wash away the feeling of Suvan’s hands on her skin; just the thought of his meaty fingers digging into her flesh sent a shiver down her spine. Part of her knew that there wasn’t enough water in the galaxy to rid her of that stain because it wasn’t just his hands she felt every time he touched her, but the myriad other masters she had served. Rather than waste the precious resources of both water and time, she retrieved the parts she had stashed beneath the sink ledge and began assembling them.

  
None of it had been her first choice, but she was able to make do with what she had scavenged. Soon, a crude blaster took shape. It would likely only last her a few shots, but perhaps only one would be enough to disarm Ghent or anyone else and she could take their weapon. If not, well…

  
There was a way for her to escape with only a single shot, guaranteed. She shuddered, closing her eyes. Right here, right now - she could bring the blaster to her head and pull the trigger. Ghent wouldn’t be able to touch her anymore. She wouldn’t be passed from master to master, never anywhere long enough to earn her freedom. She had come close, heartbreakingly close, with Peli - a few more standard months and she would have become a free citizen. Had it been bad luck or one of her god’s designs that had led Ghent’s men to swoop in and carry her off at that exact moment? Had she truly fallen so far from Elua’s grace?

  
She was tired. So, so tired.

  
The cool metal of the barrel rested against her temple and her eyes flew open. She didn’t even remember moving the blaster. She let go of the weapon as though it had burned her, scrabbling backwards away from where it clattered to the floor. What had she almost done?

  
Bile rose in her throat. Her hands trembled as she buried her face in them, trying to regain some semblance of control over her emotions. 

_  
She was strong. She had come this far. She would find a way out._

  
She had to.  
  


\-------------

 _  
The Modest Smuggler_ had sat abandoned for several years before the would-be crime lord took over. During this period of neglect, several of the outbuildings had succumbed to the elements. However, the main building remained intact and there were signs of a few sloppy repairs and even half-hearted attempts at fortification in some places. Peli had reported that Suvan had around fifty men in his employ, but roughly forty of them were sent on nightly patrols of the neighboring spaceport and cantinas to shake down citizens for credits.

  
The Mandalorian could handle those odds.

  
The mechanic’s friend, a Rodian named Jeesh Menta, lounged against his speeder. He made a much better partner than Calican: silent except for when the Mandalorian spoke to him, reliable up to this point, and if he had any questions, he’d kept them to himself.

  
The Rodian was waiting, per Peli’s request, when the Mandalorian awoke in the early afternoon. While she hadn’t exactly _rushed_ him out the door, there was a nervous energy about her that manifested in fidgety hands and tapping toes when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. He hadn’t been able to tell if it was because she got to spend the day with the Child again or because she was looking forward to having her assistant back. The little one seemed delighted to spend the day with Peli, shrieking happily when she picked him up and fussed over him. The Mandalorian couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that shot through him at the Child’s reaction to the mechanic; this jealousy was compounded by guilt at leaving him _again_ in the care of a relative stranger. No matter that he was doing Peli a favor. 

  
The Mandalorian brought a pair of binocs to his visor. He counted four guards around the perimeter, one at each corner of the building. Jeesh had brought him out early enough that he had been able to observe several rotations and was confident of the pattern. Now, he was just waiting on their compatriots to leave on patrol before he made his move.

  
As the shadows lengthened and the sky above began to turn that hazy shade of gold that signaled the onset of evening, the Mandalorian settled in to wait. His thoughts turned again to the Child - who (or what) he was, why the Imperials wanted him, how they could possibly stay one step ahead of the hunters. How he could be a better caretaker for the baby.

  
If Sorgan had taught him one thing, it reinforced the Tribe’s idea that _it takes a village_ to raise a child. He didn’t have a village; he only had himself and he felt woefully inadequate, to say the least. He tried to tell himself that at least the little womp rat was better off with him than in the hands of the mercs on Arvala-7 or the Imps on Nevarro, but it was empty consolation. A life on the run was no life for a little one.

  
The suns began to dip towards the horizon and, sure enough, the inn’s front door opened and a horde of Ghent Suvan’s enforcers staggered out. They broke off into smaller groups, clambering into a motley assortment of speeders, and headed for town. The Mandalorian shrank down behind the outcropping where he’d been sheltering, pleased to note that Jeesh had done the same. He waited until the dust from the last vehicle had settled before signaling his departure and slipping away.

  
The moons hadn’t yet risen; there would be no telltale glint of beskar to give him away. He switched his display to night vision and crept towards the next series of cover. It was only fifty yards or so to _The Modest Smuggler_ but the Mandalorian was taking no chances. Even though the odds were better with Suvan’s depleted force, he couldn’t risk one of the ten left behind alerting the ones who had left. His boots made no noise on the sand and he moved with the practice of a hunter used to stalking his prey - for that's what he was.

_  
This was the Way._

  
When he reached the last stand of rocks, the Mandalorian knelt and drew his rifle. He had foregone the Amban (much to his dismay, but practicality prevailed) in favor of another custom piece that included a silencer. From this vantage, the bounty hunter could see three of the four guards; he drew a breath and lined up the first in his sights. Through the scope, he could see the pale scar running down the side of the man’s face in stark contrast to his darkened skin; he focused on the point where it bisected the man’s eye. As the hunter exhaled, he pulled the trigger. The man crumpled to the ground with the others none the wiser.

  
Without waiting, he set up his next target - a sickly yellow Rodian at the opposite corner of the building. He went through the same motions: inhale, find the victim in the crosshairs, exhale, then watch as the sentry dropped in an ungainly heap. That left him with one last visible mark: another human at the corner closest to him. This one, too, joined the others without so much as a sound. 

  
He crossed the last stretch at a rolling lope to round the corner and dispatch the fourth guard with his vibroblade. Wiping his knife on the man’s shirt, the Mandalorian sheathed it and made his way back to the front door, sticking close to the face of the building.

  
Just as he reached the door, it slid open and a fifth guard stepped out. The Trandoshan turned away from the Mandalorian to walk towards his post, hesitating when he saw the man he was supposed to be relieving in a lifeless jumble. It was all the opening the Mandalorian needed to get his hands around the lizard’s head and snap his neck. The hunter stepped over the body and slipped inside before the door could slide shut.

  
Five down, five to go. Plus their ringleader. And his quarry was in here somewhere.

  
The Mandalorian kept a running tally as he made his way through the inn. There was the Twi’lek in the corner of the common room that he silenced with a thrown knife to the throat before he could call out. ( _Six._ ) He retrieved his blade and continued onward. Then came the pair he surprised on the stairs; the whipcord wrapped itself around the first man’s throat and he was jerked into the bounty hunter’s embrace before he even knew what was going on. A quick twist of that one’s head and the cord withdrew into the Mandalorian’s vambrace even as he was reaching for the other man. ( _S_ _even._ ) This one struggled but the bounty hunter overpowered him and broke his neck as well. ( _Eight._ ) That left…

  
...the two standing guard outside the suite at the end of the hall. Hoping vaguely that he was nearing his goal and no longer needed to err on the side of discretion, he drew his blaster and dropped each with a shot. ( _Nine. Ten._ ) Which meant that now he only had to deal with Ghent Suvan.  
  


\-------------

  
At the sounds of a scuffle in the hallway, Suvan gripped her by the hair and dragged her out of the bed. He held her flush against himself as a shield. “Nothing funny, ya hear?” he wheezed against her ear. A shudder ran through her.

  
A moment later, a man in silver armor burst through the door. In the haze of her panic, the silver visor swam in her vision and she swallowed hard. Perhaps Kushiel had heard her prayers and had finally come to deliver his punishment.

  
She could only hope.

  
Then her vision cleared and the figure before her was just a man. Not a god. 

  
For a moment, the men just stared at one another, each sizing the other up. Then Suvan barked out a laugh. “A _Mandalorian_?” he asked incredulously. “They sent a Mandalorian after me?”

  
The bounty hunter eyed his target, looking for a clear shot. Suddenly, he was back in the hangar the night before, watching as Calican held Peli and the Child captive. He held the weapon so tightly he swore he could hear the joints creak in his fingers. The slave - he could see the telltale chains that crossed her body now, attached at the wrists, ankles, and neck - struggled in Suvan’s grasp. This, then, was Peli’s assistant.

 _  
Assistant_ , she had told him. Not her _slave_. This changed a lot of things. He felt the warm spread of anger suffuse his limbs and he ground his teeth. The mechanic’s deception was a problem for later; he had more pressing issues. 

  
Suvan wound his hand tighter in the girl’s hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. His blaster dug into her cheek. He mistook the Mandalorian’s continued silence for something else and laughed again. “Like what you see? I’m sure we could come to an arrangement. This here’s a _jen-yoo-wine_ D’Angeline priestess of Naamah,” he said, dragging the barrel of his blaster down the midline of her body. “You know what they do, doncha?”

  
Contempt flashed in the girl’s dark eyes. ‘ _He wouldn’t_ ,’ a part of her said, knowing fully well that if it would save his own skin, Suvan would sell her to anyone. ‘ _The blaster_ ,’ another part of her murmured. She had stuffed it under a pillow earlier when Ghent surprised her; there hadn’t been time to find a better hiding spot. Now, it was a blessing when just moments before it had been all she could do to keep her master from discovering it. She tried to twist away, grappling for the sheets on the bed, anything that would give her purchase in her unclad state. Ghent wrestled her back under his control, wrenching her arm behind her back - but not before her hand closed on her improvised weapon. She held it close to her body but Ghent’s attention was elsewhere once more.

  
“She’s feisty, I’ll give ‘er that. Tell you what,” he continued. “A night with this and you’ll never want another cunt in your life, I guarantee it. You take her and let me walk out of here, never hear from me again. Forget I even exist.” The slave bucked again, chest heaving as she sucked in angry breath after angry breath. 

  
“ _Je vais t'oublier!_ ” she snarled, shoving the blaster barrel in Suvan’s face and pulling the trigger. 

  
The bolt hit him square between the eyes and he dropped. The gangster’s hand was still tangled in her dark hair and she was dragged to the ground along with him. She fought her way free and aimed a kick at his torso once she was upright, spitting on the corpse for good measure.

  
Satisfied that Suvan was dead, the Mandalorian holstered his weapon. That’s when he noticed it: the transponder attached to Suvan’s belt and its blinking red light. It had been activated. He knelt and jerked it free.

  
The movement seemed to remind the girl that she wasn’t alone and she whirled on him. “ _Qui êtes vous?_ ” she demanded. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  
He held up his hands. “Easy,” he tried to soothe her, taking a step in her direction. They had to get going.

  
She continued to back away, training the blaster on him. She wouldn’t - she couldn’t - not when freedom was so close. “Stay back,” she warned.

  
The Mandalorian continued to advance. “Easy,” he repeated. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of the girl’s throat. “That is what ‘e told me, as well. You will forgive me if I do not believe you,” she said, gesturing to her former master. Her back hit the wall and she froze, the realization dawning that she had trapped herself.

  
He sighed, trying to remember what Peli had told him her name was. He decided to gamble, taking another step towards the girl. “Listen, I know you don’t trust me -”

  
The shot caught him on the pauldron; luckily, it deflected away from the girl. It stunned her nearly as much as it did him, her jaw dropping. The Mandalorian recovered faster than she did and moved to close the space between them. This shook the girl out of her daze and she started to swing the blaster around.

_  
Not again. Not again._

  
As carefully as he could, the hunter gripped her wrist and forced her to drop the weapon. “ _Je ne serai pas ton esclave!_ ” she cried, fighting the hold he had on her furiously. Blood rushed in her ears. Dark spots swam across her vision. A weight constricted her chest and she felt the air grow heavy, as though it was turning to duracrete in her lungs. She swayed in his hold, then her legs gave out completely.

  
The Mandalorian knelt next to her and pressed his fingers to the column of her neck, feeling for a pulse. He felt the same rush of relief as he had the night before when Peli handed him the Child as when he felt the rapid flutter beneath his touch. He unclasped his cloak and tugged it free, draping it over her sprawled form in an attempt to preserve what remained of her modesty.

  
As he began to gather her in his arms, Jeesh came sprinting into the room. “They turned around,” he gasped, hands on his knees. “They’re coming back.”

  
The Mandalorian struggled to his feet, biting back a remark and settling for a short, “I know.” He loosened the blaster in its holster. “Did you bring the speeder around?”

  
The Rodian nodded, straightening. “Is she ok?”

  
“She’ll be fine.” He staggered a little under the deadweight of the slave. “Let’s move.”

  
He followed the Rodian through the inn. True to his word, Jeesh’s speeder sat outside the front door. The Mandalorian’s shoulders almost sagged with relief. “Get it running,” he ordered when Jeesh looked back at him questioningly. “I’ll be fine.” 

  
While his partner initiated the startup sequence, the bounty hunter wrestled the girl into the back, arranging her limbs as comfortably as he could and tucking the cloak more securely around her body and, after second thought, her face to protect it from the whirling sand. After a moment’s hesitation, he climbed into the back alongside her. “Go!” the Mandalorian barked as the first plumes of dust appeared on the horizon.

  
The speeder lurched forward and they raced towards town. The Mandalorian unshouldered his rifle and arranged himself as best he could to begin picking off their pursuers once they got within range. He spared one last glance at the bundle beside him, a swirl of emotions churning in his gut. This was twice now he couldn’t bring himself to turn in a quarry. His jaw clenched stubbornly. He didn’t know what he was going to do with her, just that he wasn’t going to simply hand her over to Peli; not without a good explanation.

  
The mechanic had better have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> D'Angeline -
> 
> Je vais t'oublier! = I will forget you!
> 
> Qui êtes vous? = Who are you?
> 
> Je ne serai pas ton esclave! = I will not be your slave!


	3. Daffodil - "Uncertainty; New Beginnings"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear, uncertainty, and discomfort are the compasses towards growth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's been a minute since this updated. The easiest explanation is that I work four jobs at any given time and finding the time and energy to write is difficult. The harder explanation is that I had to step away from this fic because it hit very close to a situation I walked into at one of my jobs. If you're still with me, thank you. Chapter 4 may not go up next week but I promise there won't be another hiatus like this one.
> 
> One of the things that got me through this rough patch was talking to my therapist. Please, especially in times like these, don't be afraid to take care of your mental health. NAMI is a good place to start, or simply talking to your primary care provider.
> 
> The other thing that got me through was my support system who encouraged me to slow down when I was doing too much and enforced the radical concept of looking out for myself first. Thank you all.

At first, she wasn’t sure what woke her. She lay still for a moment until the rocking of the speeder registered and her thoughts began to spiral. When had she ended up on a speeder? The last thing she remembered was...Suvan. Shooting him between the eyes. Being dragged to the floor.

The Mandalorian standing over her.

She willed herself to stay still. To slow her breathing. To take stock of her surroundings. Her eyes were covered by a piece of cloth or clothing that also wrapped around the rest of her body, shielding it from the chilly desert air and stinging sand that whipped through the open cockpit of the craft. She heard the rumble of the engine and, below that, the higher pitched whine of their pursuers. The surface she was laying on dipped under the weight of another person and then in short order, there was the sound of a weapon being primed, a shot, and then a crash. Then it was just the sound of their speeder and the whistle of the wind. 

Someone in the front seat said something but she couldn't make it out. "They've stopped," she heard a modulated male voice answer, the words clipped with fatigue.

His companion said something else she didn’t catch. "Rhysa?" the man replied and she felt a chill down her spine. "The girl? I don't know if she's awake yet. I'll check on her."

A presence loomed above her; her chest constricted and the air felt heavy, like she couldn't drag enough of it into her lungs. She needed to move, to get away...she fought with the cloth binding her, all pretense of unconsciousness gone, clawing at the fabric and trying to twist her way free only to slide off the bench and land on the floor of the speeder. Pain flared through her hip on impact but she barely noticed it. _'Not again,'_ she thought. ' _Not again, not again, never again!_ ' 

The D’Angeline scuttled backwards until she collided with the side of the speeder, then tried to stand on trembling limbs. She swayed dangerously as the edges of her vision darkened, pitching backwards until someone caught her forearm in a strong grip. With a strangled sob, she lashed out with her free hand, chains jangling, only to be caught in a matching hold. “No, no, no,” she sobbed, trying to break free. “No, no, _please_ …”

“Easy,” her captor tried to soothe her. “Rhysa? Rhysa, it’s all right, I’m not taking you back.” When she still struggled against him, eyes squeezed shut, he called out to the driver. “Jeesh! Hold up a minute, she’s - I need to - can you talk to her? She knows you.”

Rhysa felt the speeder slow. Her legs shook, threatening to buckle beneath her, and one of the hands loosed her to settle on her shoulder and guide her gently to the floor. Once she was safely seated and no longer in danger of toppling over the side, the other hand released her arm only to grab the edge of the - cape? cloak? - and tug it back across her body, covering her nakedness. She opened her eyes and tracked the hold up the armored limb to the impassive black T visor. Her breath caught in her throat and she drew back with a whimper as she recognized the Mandalorian from _The Modest Smuggler_. Dimly, she recalled the standoff at the waystation and wondered if he had been sent for Suvan - _or for her_.

The speeder finally stopped and a Rodian clambered into the back. His sudden appearance sent her heart racing until she picked out his familiar features by moonlight. "Jeesh?" she asked, voice cracking. She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry from fear.

The Mandalorian shifted away and Jeesh settled back on his heels. "Yeah," he said quietly, a sad smile spreading across his features. "Peli sent us for you."

_Peli_. Rhysa's eyes drifted closed and she would have fought back tears if she'd had the energy to cry. It still hadn't quite sunk in that Ghent was dead - even though she had pulled the trigger - and now she was struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that she wasn't being kidnapped by a new master to serve but rather _rescued_.

"Here," a modulated voice said roughly as an open canteen was shoved under her nose. Rhysa reeled back in surprise and struck her head on the back of the seat, flinching as stars exploded across her vision. She heard the Mandalorian swear and his gloved hand cupped the back of her head, probing with a gentleness that caught her even more off guard. He grunted. "You're alright. Just...take it easy, yeah?”

The D’Angeline nodded, which set off a fresh wave of dizziness. She groped for the canteen and took a sip to cover it. The water was nearly too warm, sitting uncomfortably in her empty stomach, but she tried to think of the last time she’d had anything to drink and quickly decided that _warm water_ was better than _no water_ and it was wiser to keep her mouth shut.

Jeesh and the Mandalorian watched her swallow a few more mouthfuls before the armored man stood and jerked his head towards town. “We should keep moving.”

“Right. Yeah,” Jeesh agreed, standing. “It’s good to have you back, Rhysa.” He rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting for a reply, but she could only nod tiredly. His shoulders slumped and he climbed back into the pilot’s seat as the bounty hunter cringed behind his helmet. Moments later, the speeder shuddered to life once again and they continued towards Mos Eisley.

The Mandalorian settled back onto the bench seat within easy reach of Rhysa. She fixed him with a wary stare, continuing to take small sips of the water. Now that they had space to breathe, he took a moment to study her. D'Angelines were famed throughout the galaxy for their beauty and Rhysa was no exception; it might have been dulled by her ordeal but something lay beneath that could be rekindled and repolished. The D'Angeline pride, however, was gone from her posture, quashed by the durasteel that loosely ringed her neck, wrists, and ankles - loose enough to chafe and scar, but not quite enough to slip through. Perhaps the restraints had been ill-fitting to begin with, judging by the age of some of the scars. Or perhaps they had loosened over time, he surmised, recalling the subtle ripples of her ribs, the dull luster of her dark hair, how fragile she had felt when he carried her out of the waystation. But was the malnourishment her doing or Suvan's - a way to keep her compliant or her way of escaping an inescapable situation?

He sighed, reaching for his pack and rummaging around in it until he came up with a half-crushed ration bar. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing. The Mandalorian held it out to Rhysa by the wrapper. "You should eat something, too," he rasped.

Her dark eyes darted between the bar and his helmet but she made no move to take it from him. "Go on, take it," he encouraged, twitching the bar in her direction. " _Gar shuk meh kyrayc_."

Rhysa frowned at the unfamiliar tongue. However, the words felt like a command so she reached up and took the outstretched offering, fingers trembling. The D'Angeline fumbled with the wrapper, her hands refusing to cooperate. She finally got it open and alternated bits of the crumbled bar with sips of water. As the food and drink disappeared, so did the persistent dizziness. An exhausted sort of relief took its place but she still watched the bounty hunter warily, especially once he began to clean his weapons.

Most of his cleaning kit was back on the _Crest_ but the Mandalorian could at least give the vibroblade and rifle a cursory clean. If he'd thought about it earlier, the sand would have made quick work of the blood on his knife. Ah, well, there was nothing for it now - and it wasn't as though there was a shortage of sand on Tatooine. He did his best with a rag he found in the back of the speeder, then turned his attention to the rifle after resheathing the blade. Mando spared a glance for the D'Angeline and found her watching him, eyes flickering between himself and her surroundings. At one point, there was a flash of recognition and she relaxed a fraction beneath his cloak.

Rhysa didn't belong here, he thought, anger at the mechanic returning from a simmer to a low boil somewhere deep in his gut. Didn't belong to anyone. An errant thought made itself at home in his head: he’d left the Child with that woman. He had trusted her to keep the little one safe and she had _lied to his face_ and asked him to return a piece of _property_. On the heels of that thought came another: children were in high demand among slavers. Peli couldn’t - wouldn’t - have sold him - would she? ‘ _You did_ ,’ his conscience reminded him and his armor seemed to weigh twice as heavily on his frame. The bounty hunter’s grip tightened on the barrel to ground himself and he started to shake his head before aborting the motion. He was getting lax, placing his trust in someone so quickly. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

To distract himself from his growing ire, the Mandalorian began to mentally tally up the coinage he had taken ( _looted_ ) from Toro Calican and came to the disgruntled conclusion that he couldn’t afford a trip all the way to Terre D’Ange without a stop somewhere along the way for another job or three - and that was with a direct route through the Core, something he dearly hoped to avoid. Laying a false trail for whoever was following them would take more time and many, many more credits. But it was clear Rhysa couldn’t stay; there would always be another Hutt, another Ghent Suvan waiting to fill the void he’d just left behind and on Tatooine, she would just be another slave.

Before Mando could come up with a satisfactory plan, the speeder slowed and came to a stop outside the hangar bay where ( _presumably_ ) Peli, the Child, and his ship were all waiting. He stood and shouldered his rifle, then swung down from the skiff. Rhysa stood as well, frozen in place as she stared at the shop with wide, dark eyes sunk in deep hollows.

The bounty hunter held out a hand to her. “Come on,” he said when she didn’t move. It seemed to shake the girl out of her trance and she took the proffered hand to steady herself as she stepped down cautiously.

Jeesh rounded the corner, looking vaguely disappointed that Rhysa had already disembarked. It was momentary, though, as he squared his shoulders and gestured to the building. “Welcome home,” he murmured with a smile.

Mando tossed a hefty sum his way. “Better get that thing out of sight,” he told the Rodian gruffly, disliking that Jeesh referred to Peli’s as _home_. “They might come looking for whoever shot up their hideout once they’ve had a chance to regroup. I’d drop it in the desert for the scavengers and get yourself a new one.”

Jeesh looked from the credits to the Mandalorian, then back to the credits before nodding. “Right. Of course,” he agreed, reluctantly taking the dismissal for what it was. “I guess I’ll...I’ll be seeing you around, Rhysa.”

Not trusting her voice, Rhysa nodded and offered him a tremulous smile in return. While Jeesh headed back around the speeder and started it up again, the Mandalorian gestured for her to follow and stalked into the repair bay. Rhysa had to take two steps for every one of his and found herself nearly out of breath again by the time they emerged from the short corridor and into the shop proper.

Peli looked up from the workbench where she had been dozing, the Child nestled in a crate beside her. Upon seeing Rhysa, she jumped off the stool and headed for the girl, arms open wide to embrace her.

Rhysa’s entire posture changed, shoulders sagging in relief as she made to move towards Peli. Mando threw an arm out, blocking her path, and Peli skidded to a halt.

The Mandalorian advanced on Peli, jabbing a finger in her face. “You said she was your _assistant_ ,” he snarled. “You didn’t say anything about her being a _slave_.” His voice dropped even lower as he backed her up against the hull of the _Crest_. “I’m no slave catcher!”

Rhysa stepped between the bounty hunter and the mechanic, trembling as she tried to draw herself up to her full height. “I was not her slave,” she said wearily. “On record, perhaps, but not in fact. Peli Motto does not own slaves; she frees them.”

Mando took a step back, hands curling into tight fists, and waited for an explanation. Peli gripped Rhysa’s elbow to steady her; there was no mistaking the way the girl flinched and Peli dropped her hold immediately with a strangled noise of sympathy, or perhaps outrage. “By law,” she began, fixing the Mandalorian with a glower, “a slave can be freed after five standard years with the same master. Rhysa was with me just shy of that before Ghent took her.” She squinted against the glare of the shop lights. “No one deserves to be a slave. It ain’t much but I do what I can to make it right.”

There was no acknowledgment from the bounty hunter save the relaxing of his fists. His visor shifted from Peli ( _bristling with barely-restrained anger_ ) to Rhysa ( _still wrapped in his cloak, trying desperately to remain upright_ ) as he searched them for any telltale signs of deception. Finding none, he dipped his head in a nod, ashamed at himself for thinking the mechanic capable of selling the baby to the highest bidder ( _though he was hardly one to judge_ ). "I...apologize," he said hesitantly, guilt heavy on his tongue. "I assumed -"

"What any other person with half a brain cell would’ve assumed." Peli cut him off, not unkindly. "But you weren't gonna just hand her over to me," she pointed out.

There was a beat of silence. "No," the Mandalorian confirmed.

Peli grunted in approval. She opened her mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a joyful cry from the Child, who had awoken and was trying to clamber down from the workbench. One of the pit droids scrambled over to help him, upending a toolbox in the process. The contents clattered to the ground. 

At the sudden noise, Rhysa felt her blood run cold and she whirled around, torn between shrinking behind Peli and stepping in front of her to protect her from the perceived threat. Her indecision paralyzed her and she felt her chest constrict as her vision narrowed once again. “Hey, hey, hey,” Peli said, reaching for Rhysa as she swayed. The girl, already pale, had gone paler and it seemed that whatever reserves of strength she had left were giving out.

The Child made it down unaided and was now toddling over to his guardian as fast as his legs could carry him. The Mandalorian had knelt to greet his charge and now he stood once more with the baby a comforting weight in his arms. There was a concerned coo from the Child and he reached for the D’Angeline, brow creased in determination. “She’ll be all right,” Mando reassured him quietly, bouncing him as he had seen Peli do earlier. It seemed to distract the baby and he settled back against the bounty hunter’s armored chest with a sleepy huff of annoyance.

“I’m gonna get her inside,” Peli muttered. “She’s been through enough. You all right with him or you need me to take him?”

Startled, the Mandalorian’s shoulders tensed and he gripped the Child tighter, earning a squeak of protest. He hadn’t seen the boy in nearly a whole rotation and, while food and water and a shower would be welcome, he found that he didn’t want to hand the little one over. 

Something in his posture must have shown; Peli smiled knowingly at him. “You hang onto him, then,” she answered herself. The mechanic cleared her throat and laid a hand on Rhysa’s arm. “Come on, my girl,” she murmured, leading her towards the living quarters.

Halfway there, she paused and turned to call over her shoulder. “There’s some stuff on the ship for you; we went shopping while you were gone. He makes a good shopping buddy, likes it when you talk to him.” She fixed him with a meaningful look before continuing on her way.

Mando waited until the door closed behind the pair and the pit droids scurried off to their charging dock before turning and boarding the _Crest_. True to her word, Peli had stocked the small galley area and part of the cargo hold with a mix of foodstuffs - fresh, dry, canned, as much as she could squeeze into the limited space. Looking at it all, she had probably spent as much as he had given her. The bounty hunter sighed gratefully. It would be nice to have something to eat other than ration bars for a while.

The Child squirmed in his hold and the Mandalorian set him down on the floor. He waddled over to a crate and patted it proudly, looking up at the bounty hunter with a toothy grin. Remembering Peli’s last advice to him, Mando decided to give it a try and cleared his throat. “Did you get that for me?” he asked. It felt silly, talking to a being that he knew wouldn’t respond as though it could and would. But he felt like Peli had known her fair share of children and if she said the Child liked to be talked to, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to hold a conversation with his charge - even if it was a bit one-sided. He’d held plenty of one-sided conversations with himself, traveling on his own through hyperspace. The baby babbled in reply and Mando’s chest constricted, lips quirking upwards in a smile of their own accord. “You shouldn’t have,” he said.

‘ _There_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _That wasn’t so hard_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a translations:
> 
> Gar shuk meh kyrayc = You're no use dead; said to encourage someone to rest, rarely literal
> 
> If you've noticed, there's a theme with the chapter titles being the language of flowers. After I had been working with this title and its meanings for a while, I discovered another layer to the daffodil: chivalry. Which suits our Mandalorian quite well, don't you think?


	4. Amaryllis - "Timidity; Pride"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timidity is the silent acceptance of bondage.
> 
> \- Constance Friday

The first order of business would have to be removing Rhysa’s chains. Peli dragged a stool over and guided the D'Angeline down onto the seat. “Let’s get you outta these things,” she muttered, scratching her head as she tried to recall the last place she'd seen her spanner or lockpicking tools.

As though reading her mind, Rhysa offered the mechanic an exhausted smile. "On the shelf above the conservator?" she suggested, voice barely above a whisper. Peli was forever leaving her tools in random places and Rhysa had picked up the habit of either memorizing where she last saw them or just simply picking them up and returning them to their rightful toolbox. It was only a guess but the shelf was a particular hotspot for lost tools to turn up. Sure enough, the red-handled spanner that Peli favored was tucked just out of the mechanic’s sightline.

"What did I ever do without you?" Peli asked, rescuing the spanner and moving back towards Rhysa. She paused, eyeing the durasteel critically. There were two bolts holding the neck collar closed but the cuffs around her wrists and ankles were secured with a mechanism that would require her lockpicking tools. Rhysa squirmed a bit under the scrutiny, eyelids drooping as the last reserves of her strength began to flag. Peli made a quick decision and flashed Rhysa a smile. "I'm gonna need more'n my spanner for this," she told the D'Angeline. "I'll be right back."

Peli disappeared back into her workshop, rummaging through a toolbox to find the picks. Her stomach churned with anger over how far Rhysa had regressed in the few months she’d been with Ghent. Before he had taken her, Rhysa had been...confident. Bright. Brimming with a sense of humor. Who the Mandalorian had brought back? She was a shell of herself, more like the timid girl Peli had first bartered for five years ago. It had taken _years_ for her to reach the point where she wasn’t constantly jumping at shadows and seeking reassurance for each task; the point where Peli had begun to consider her more of a _partner_ and _companion_.

The D’Angeline couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t protect the girl and if Ghent had transferred ownership to himself, well, _legally_ Rhysa wasn’t free; she would have to wait five more years. The New Republic _had_ put an end to slavery but they seemed to turn a blind eye when it came to Tatooine. The only compromise the local government had made was the five-year rule: if a slave remained with the same master for a period of at least five years, they would earn their freedom. But could she do that to Rhysa? The girl had been through _enough_ as it was and even though Peli considered herself a fair master...Rhysa was notoriously closed-mouthed about her past. The mechanic didn’t know how many masters she had served or how long she had been enslaved; she had likely earned her freedom many times over at this point.

Peli sighed and looked out the shop window at the _Razor Crest_. She had already asked a lot of the Mandalorian in retrieving Rhysa - but he had been prepared to...what? Not hand her over? Not handing her over and taking her with him were two different things. She could...she could ask. The worst he’d do was say no - but Peli didn’t think he would. “Aha!” she cried triumphantly, finally coming up with the pouch she’d been looking for. After a moment’s pause, she grabbed a scanner as well to locate the D’Angeline’s tracking chip.

With one last glance towards the ship in her bay, Peli headed back to Rhysa. “Found ‘em,” she said, holding up the worn leather envelope. The kit and the scanner went onto the table and the mechanic picked up the spanner. “Lemme get those bolts outta the collar and then I’ll work on the rest, yeah?”

Rhysa froze; the bolts were on the back of the collar, which meant Peli would have to stand behind her, where she wouldn’t be able to see the mechanic, to remove them. As though sensing her apprehension, Peli set the spanner back down and took Rhysa’s hands in her own. “I’m sorry, dearheart,” she murmured. “I know...I know it’s a lot and if there was any other way…” Her voice trailed off.

With a deep, fortifying breath, Rhysa nodded. “I know,” she said. She closed her eyes. This was _Peli_. She _trusted_ Peli. Reaching deep, she found one last scrap of courage and nodded her consent, offering a weary and timid smile.

Peli felt tears prick her eyes. “That’s my girl,” she replied, patting Rhysa’s cheek fondly. Gathering the spanner once more, she stepped behind the girl and began trying to loosen the bolts. 

Naturally, they had been overtightened to deter any attempts at the D'Angeline removing the collar herself. As Peli worked, Rhysa's shoulders grew more and more tense and her grip on the Mandalorian's borrowed cloak steadily tightened. The mechanic cleared her throat and laid a comforting hand on Rhysa's left arm; even with the warning, the girl still flinched in surprise. "I've almost got it," she assured the D'Angeline, rubbing comforting circles with her thumb. "It's just me."

"I-I know," Rhysa stammered. "I...my apologies."

Peli squeezed Rhysa's shoulder. "Nothing to apologize for, dearheart. Just a few minutes more.”

True to her word, the bolts clattered to the floor one after the other and the collar popped open moments later. With a ragged sob of relief, Rhysa reached up and yanked it the rest of the way off. Peli immediately moved around to Rhysa’s front and set to work on the shackles encircling her wrists and ankles. Those required little more than a quick jiggle with one of the picks before they also fell open. Rhysa sighed in relief, gingerly touching the welts the durasteel had left behind. 

"Get yourself cleaned up and I'll put some bacta on those," Peli told her. "Do you...would you like me to wash your hair first?" Peli’s eyes shone hopefully; before Ghent had taken Rhysa, the mechanic had loved to play with Rhysa’s long locks of sable hair, twisting them into intricate plaits that not only kept her hair out of her eyes and away from the machinery she worked on but reminded Rhysa of the way her brothers and sisters in the priesthood of Naamah would fix their hair.

"I…" Rhysa hesitated, reaching a hand up to touch her scalp. She hadn't paid it any attention before but it stung fiercely from how Ghent had grabbed it, pulled her around, and dragged her to the ground before she had - "Thank you, but no. Not...not now," she replied, breaking that train of thought. The less she thought about it, the better. 

Her stomach flip-flopped rapidly at Peli's crestfallen look. How could she explain her simultaneous desire to be both left alone and to be held and comforted? It didn't even make sense in her own mind. She opened her mouth to try to say something but Peli just shook her head. "You go get yourself cleaned up," she repeated. "Never you mind. I'll have something ready for you to eat when you're done." There was a beat of silence, then Peli spoke up again, more quietly this time. “Your things are still in your room; I...I didn’t touch anything.”

With a choked sob, Rhysa threw her arms around Peli’s neck. After a moment’s hesitation, Peli brought her arms up as well and held Rhysa to her. Peli’s throat burned from holding back her tears. _I never gave up on you_ , she wanted to say but the words wouldn't come.

"Thank you," Rhysa whispered, almost as though she knew. A shudder ran through her whole body and she pulled away; Peli pretended not to notice.

The mechanic gave Rhysa a gentle push in the direction of the refresher. “Go on,” she encouraged. “You know where everything is. I’ll scrounge somethin’ up for you to eat.”

With a last grateful smile, Rhysa escaped to the solitude of the refresher. Hardly more than a closet, there was a basic sonic, a toilet, and a small sink above a cupboard where Peli kept her linens. Rhysa eyed the sonic dubiously; it would be quicker but less gentle than a sponge bath and it would leave her still feeling dirty. Having made up her mind, she turned on the tap and, without waiting, splashed some water on her face. The water, pleasantly warm from sitting in a tank on the roof, refreshed the D’Angeline and she allowed herself a moment to marvel at her unencumbered range of motion and how much lighter she felt - physically and mentally - without the weight of the chains. 

Some part of her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that they were _gone_. The durasteel had become just another extension over the past few months to the point where she no longer noticed it and, now, without them, she felt like she could fly away. Like she had dreamed about when she had first been enslaved. But those dreams hadn’t lasted long.

Now finished with her “bath”, Rhysa drew the Mandalorian’s cloak around her once again so she could slip across the hall to what had been her room - still was, according to Peli. Sure enough, beyond the partition, it looked like not a day had passed since Ghent had taken her. Her toolbox sat on the desk along with her drawing implements, her clothes were in the chest next to the bed (little more than a cot, really), her spare blanket lay neatly across the foot of the bed -

\- and her Crait salt lamp perched on the little bedside table. With trembling fingers, Rhysa flicked it on and closed her eyes, basking in the soft pinkish glow for a moment. How she had _wished_ for her little lamp to chase the nighttime horrors away at _The Modest Smuggler_! Everything felt...right, somehow. She almost didn’t trust it.

Almost.

Moving to the chest, Rhysa dragged out a tunic and a pair of leggings. She pulled them on, frowning as she realized how much weight she had lost. Thankfully, the leggings were made of a stretchy material that ( _barely_ ) clung to her waist but the tunic hung loosely off her frame. Still, she had _clothes_ \- her own clothes! - and she was going to sleep _alone_ , in her own bed.

Rhysa folded the Mandalorian’s cloak and left it on the trunk before she went back to the kitchen. Peli was waiting for her with a large bowl of steaming liquid. A quick sniff told Rhysa it was some kind of bone broth and her stomach growled. Even just a whiff of _good_ , _hearty_ food gave her a second - third? - wind that hadn’t been there before. If Rhysa had more strength, she would have marveled at the fact that she kept finding new reserves just when she thought it wasn’t possible for her to make it another step.

Rhysa resumed her seat on the stool and reached for the spoon. Peli looked on and nodded approvingly. “I’d like to check your tracker for something, if that’s all right?” she asked. “I’ll be quick about it.”

Rhysa hesitated with the spoon halfway to her mouth, then lowered it with a nod. Peli reached out and gave her arm a squeeze; this time, she was able to stand where the girl could see her to run the scanner over the D’Angeline’s back. Just as she thought, Rhysa’s chip pinged just below her right shoulder blade. With no small amount of apprehension, Peli checked who the chip was registered to - and let out a wet chuckle as she recognized her own chain code.

Ghent hadn’t transferred ownership to himself. Rhysa was still Peli’s and had made it to the five-year mark.

She could be freed.

“Gotta get it out,” Peli muttered, mostly to herself. Rhysa looked back at her, alarm etched on her features. “No, no, no, I - it’s _good_ , dearheart,” she hastened to assure the D’Angeline. Peli set the scanner down on the table with trembling hands unable to find the words. Her brain felt like it was short-circuiting and she knew she was no use in this situation. She needed help. “I’ll be right back.” 

\-------

It was easier than he thought to continue talking to the Child, narrating his actions as he finished cleaning and oiling the rifle and started in on his armor. After a moment's hesitation, he began naming the plates in mando'a; even though the little one couldn't answer, it felt good to feel the syllables roll off his tongue. He hadn’t spoken mando’a in so long and it took him a few tries to wrap his mouth around some of the words but it was immensely satisfying to hear the baby’s fascinated coos and squeals of delight.

It was such a simple thing - why hadn’t it occurred to him before? What other things had he been neglecting to do for the Child?

Before he could chase that thought spiral, there was a knock on the side of the _Crest_. The Mandalorian finished fastening his vambrace and stood, stooping to pick up the Child on his way to the door. It slid up to reveal Peli; the mechanic had one arm across her body, fingering the rolled-up hem of the opposite sleeve. “I hope I’m not botherin’ you,” she said, “but I could use another favor.”

The bounty hunter observed her impassively for a moment as she continued to fidget, then dipped his helmet. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“It’s Rhysa,” Peli replied in a rush. “I - she...what I mean is -” She cut herself off and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “She’s got a tracker. It needs to come out,” the mechanic explained. “I-I can’t do it.” Peli sighed heavily. “I can’t,” she repeated, her voice quivering.

Silence stretched between them. Even the Child stayed quiet, although he glanced between Mando and Peli. Finally, the bounty hunter spoke up again. “Is that all?”

Peli dropped her gaze to her boots. “No,” she admitted in a whisper. She looked back up at him. “I...I need you to take her with you when you leave.”

There was another beat of silence. This time, it was Peli who spoke first. “Look, we both know you would have anyway,” she continued, leaving certain thoughts unsaid. “She’s damn good with anything mechanical and...well, let’s face it, this hunk of junk could use some work. That and you need a babysitter; can’t keep running off and leaving this precious little bean all by himself.” She smiled fondly and reached up to stroke the Child’s ear. He trilled happily.

Mando had to admit that Peli was right on all counts - that he _had_ been prepared to take the girl with him; that the _Razor Crest_ needed several repairs that he’d been putting off; and that having someone to watch the Baby would take a weight off his mind and allow him to take higher-paying jobs. He sighed. But she was another mouth to feed and traveling with him was fraught with danger - Sorgan had proved that. And from what he had seen today, was the girl in any shape to be traveling at all? “I’ll take her as far as the next major hub,” he compromised. Rhysa could find her own way back to Terre D’Ange but at least he could leave her somewhere safe.

Well, safer than Tatooine, anyway.

Peli felt some of the tension seep out of her shoulders. It was enough; it had to be. “Thank you.”

\-------

Rhysa looked up as Peli reentered the room. She froze as a second figure, much taller than the mechanic, stooped through the doorway. Recognizing the armored frame of the Mandalorian, Rhysa dropped her gaze to the table in front of her, studying the wood grain in minute detail as she tried to slow her racing heart.

Peli leaned across the table and took one of Rhysa’s hands. “We’re gonna take your tracker out,” she explained.

That got Rhysa’s attention and her head snapped up. “You mean…?” Her voice trailed off as the implication sunk in. Peli nodded, a lump in her throat.

It took a heartbeat for it to register that she was _free_. " _Oh_ ," she breathed, throat tightening and tears threatening to fall. Her chest heaved as she tried to hold back her emotions; she didn't want to cry in front of the Mandalorian. Or Peli, though Peli had seen her shed more than her fair share of tears.

Peli released Rhysa’s hand and moved around the table, towards a storage cabinet to the left of the sink. She pulled out a well-stocked medkit; setting it on the table, Peli rummaged around until she came up with a simple surgery set which she traded to the Mandalorian for the baby. “No medcenter,” she explained at what she interpreted as a quizzical tilt of his head as she settled the little one on her hip. “Easier to just take care of it ourselves.”

Mando grunted and rounded the table to stand behind Rhysa, who immediately stiffened. The bounty hunter looked to Peli, who reached for Rhysa’s hand once more. “I know,” he heard the mechanic say to the girl. “It won’t take long and I’ll be right here.”

“Could you...could you pull your tunic up?” Mando requested. After a moment’s hesitation, the girl hastened to comply and bared her back with trembling hands. Using the scanner on the table, Mando quickly located the chip and pulled the scalpel out of the kit. He placed a hand on Rhysa’s back, feeling the ridges of scars through the material of his gloves. He measured the length of the tracker between two fingers and the girl flinched under his touch. “Easy,” he murmured. “Just relax. Take a deep breath for me - good.”

The scalpel bit into Rhysa’s skin and a thin rivulet of blood trickled out but she didn’t make a sound even though he knew it had to hurt. Mando pushed the chip to the surface and pulled it out with a pop that he felt more than heard. The girl started to shake and the bounty hunter smoothed the bacta patch that Peli passed him over the wound. “It’s out,” he said, setting the tracker and scalpel on the table. “If you need anything else...we’ll be on the _Crest_.” 

Taking the Child from Peli, he walked out the way he had come in. Peli hurried to Rhysa’s side and helped her pull her tunic back down, frowning at the way it hung off the girl. “Here, you need to eat more,” she fussed at Rhysa, pushing the bowl of broth towards her.

Rhysa ate a few more spoonfuls while Peli dressed the sores left by the shackles with bacta salve and wrapped them in bandages. By the time Peli was done, it was clear that only sheer stubbornness was keeping Rhysa upright. Peli plucked the spoon from Rhysa’s fingers and patted her arm. “Come on, dearheart, you can barely keep those eyes open.”

Peli led Rhysa back down the hall to her room and helped her into bed - it wasn’t necessary, really, but Rhysa knew that if she didn’t let Peli fret over her, well, then Peli would worry that there was something _else_ wrong, even if there wasn’t. The mechanic pulled the covers up around Rhysa. “Comfortable?” she asked.

Rhysa nodded. “Yes.”

The mechanic picked at her fingernails before looking down at the girl. “I asked Mando to take you with him tomorrow when he goes,” she murmured.

The D’Angeline sat bolt upright. “Peli, _non_ ,” she protested. She had been through so much in the last several months (let alone several _hours_ ) and had just made it back to the one place where she had felt safe; she hadn’t had time to process everything. And, now, to be sent away from a space where she was comfortable and wanted - she hadn’t even been _asked_ , she was _free_ now, she could _choose_ -

Peli held up a hand to silence her protests. “Look, I know it ain’t what you wanted but...well, the tin can and I are in agreement that it ain’t safe for you to stay with me.”

“But I _want_ to -”

“I _know_ , dearheart,” Peli said wrapping her arms around Rhysa and pulling her close. “I would like nothing more than to let you stay on with me - you’ve been a blessing, really - but…” She sighed. “You don’t belong here. It’s...it’s what’s best for you.”

A thousand other protests swarmed Rhysa’s mind but none of them could make it to her lips. She sat back and nodded mutely. Peli patted her cheek fondly. “That’s my girl. Now, get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Rhysa lay back down and closed her eyes as Peli left the room, curtain swishing softly back into place behind her. Her brain hummed with activity and she wasn’t sure how she would ever fall asleep. She could...she could try to convince Peli in the morning. This place felt like _home_. She couldn’t leave. Before she could get her thoughts in order, though, her exhaustion finally caught up to her and dragged her down into the oblivion of sleep.


	5. Sweet Pea - "Departure"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The horizon slopes away
> 
> The days are longer  
> Trip
> 
> A heart hops in a cage  
> A bird sings  
> It is going to die  
> Another door is going to open  
> At the end of the corridor  
> Where a star  
> Begins to shine  
> A dark-haired woman  
> The lantern of the departing train
> 
> ("Departure")  
> Pierre Reverdy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you to my beta for always finding time to help me out. You're the best!

For the first time in what felt like ages, Rhysa woke at her own pace and in her own time. _And alone_. A pleasant languor suffused her limbs and she snuggled deeper under the blankets, breathing deeply and inhaling the soft, woodsy scent. She allowed herself to bask in the warmth and watch the sunlight creep up the smooth walls for a few moments more before she pushed the covers down and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Rhysa stretched her arms up over her head, feeling the slight twinge of newly-healed flesh where her tracking chip had once been, and let them fall to her sides with a sharp exhalation. It still amazed her how _light_ she felt without the chains. A soft _clink_ caught her attention and she reached inside her tunic, drawing out the only chain that remained: the necklace and amulet she had been given by the prefect of the Naamah priesthood on the eve of her departure for her year of service.

That year had ended some time ago. 

A steaming mug of caf and a flatbread wrap with eggs sat on her desk, indicating that Peli was already up and about. Rhysa smiled sadly, a bittersweet ache in her chest. Even though she felt like she could eat a whole bantha, she picked at the food one nibble at a time as she packed her meager belongings, pausing between bites to make sure it stayed down. Her spare clothes, her blanket, her lamp, her tools and drawing implements all went into the trunk. Suddenly, the D’Angeline paused, her hand on the soft grey fabric of - the Mandalorian’s cloak? She frowned. She didn’t recall pulling it up onto the bed, but...the desert nights were cold and she had been exhausted. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she had half-woken in the middle of the night and wrapped herself in it without remembering. Rhysa folded it and set it on top of the lid, smoothing out the wrinkles.

That was how Peli found her a few moments later, lost in thought. The mechanic stood in the doorway and cleared her throat to alert Rhysa to her presence. The D’Angeline whirled at the noise, relaxing when she saw it was only Peli. She offered the mechanic a wan smile. “I suppose you have not changed your mind?” she asked quietly.

Peli returned the smile. “I’m sorry, dearheart,” she replied. The mechanic moved to Rhysa’s side and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Come on, he’s waiting,” she said, jerking her head towards the hangar bay.

Rhysa followed Peli through the living quarters, glancing around one last time at the familiar walls. As they passed through the workshop, the pit droids all stopped what they were doing to stare. Rhysa offered them a fond, sad smile and waved as she balanced the trunk on her hip; they waved back then scrambled after the pair to cluster in the doorway.

The Mandalorian was waiting at the bottom of the cargo ramp, thumbs hitched in his belt as he watched the pair’s approach without a sound. As they drew nearer, Rhysa pulled out the borrowed cloak and handed it over. “Thank you. I am...I apologize for forgetting to return it to you last night.”

The helm tilted quizzically, puzzled by her concern over such a trivial thing. “I have others,” the modulated voice rasped and, indeed, a different cloak in a rusty reddish hue sat on his shoulders. He draped the grey cloak over one of his arms and held out his hands for the trunk. “I can stow that for you while you...while you say your goodbyes.”

Rhysa hesitated and gripped the handles tighter, knuckles blanching, before relinquishing it to the bounty hunter. He grunted and disappeared into the ship, leaving Peli and Rhysa alone. A lump formed in Rhysa’s throat as she turned back to the mechanic. “So this is it,” she said.

Peli gathered Rhysa to her as tightly as she dared. “I wish it could be different, dearheart,” she replied as she pulled back. The mechanic reached up to pat Rhysa’s cheek. “You were meant for so much more than this.”

The D’Angeline ducked her head to hide her tears. _If only Peli knew_. She was lucky to have even had _this_ much.

With a sigh, Peli gave her a gentle push towards the ramp. “Go,” she urged, her voice thick.

Rhysa spared one last glance back at the mechanic who had gone to such lengths to rescue her and then the ramp began to rise. She turned to see the Mandalorian paused on a tween-deck ladder. “Cockpit’s up here,” he said, jerking his head towards the upper deck. “I’ll give you the grand tour once we get off the ground and hit hyperspace.” He continued climbing and the D’Angeline scrambled to follow.

As she ascended the ladder, a small green figure clad in a brown robe drew into view and Rhysa almost lost her grip on the rungs. She let out a soft gasp as the Child cooed and reached for her. Suddenly, he was scooped up by a pair of gloved hands. “Come here, you little womp rat,” the Mandalorian grumbled.

Shaking off the paralysis that gripped her, Rhysa made it the rest of the way up the ladder and into the cockpit. The Mandalorian was settling the Child into a floating pod, arranging a blanket around the little one more comfortably. He tipped his head towards the co-pilot’s chair. “Get yourself strapped in,” he instructed, turning to initiate the start-up sequence without waiting for Rhysa to comply.

The D’Angeline took her seat and fastened the safety harness, studying the interior of the cabin to distract herself; she had never been inside the cockpit of any craft she’d traveled on and she found herself wondering what each of the buttons and switches did even as she repeated the steps to the start-up sequence in her head. The repetition soothed some of the fluttering in her stomach. Outside, the engines roared to life. Unconsciously, one of Rhysa’s hands gripped the pendant so it left an indent in her palm while the other fidgeted with the loose end of the harness strap. There was a shudder as the landing gear disengaged and then the _Razor Crest_ began to rise out of the hangar. To her left, the Child shrieked with glee as the walls disappeared and the Tatooine horizon filled the viewfield. Soon, that, too, sank out of sight and the ship shook as it broke through the atmosphere.

Paying no mind to the awe-struck D’Angeline as she gazed out at stars she had only seen from the surface of the desert planet, the Mandalorian fiddled with the nav computer but found it hard to concentrate. His thoughts kept slipping away like water through his fingers and he could feel a dull ache banding his forehead. He needed to find someplace where he could lay low - or at least pass unnoticed - that would also offer the opportunities for work so he could see the girl safely on her way. To that end, it should also be somewhere _safe_ for her, where the risk of her being re-enslaved was relatively low. There weren’t many planets that fit the bill, but...Naboo. Naboo would be acceptable. He would just stick to, well, _not_ the capital. The bounty hunter punched in the coordinates and shifted the _Crest_ to the proper heading to make the jump to hyperspace.

As the stars seemed to stretch around them, the ship groaned as if in protest. With a sigh, the Mandalorian hit the autopilot and swung his seat around, opting to ignore the noise which had subsided after a few seconds; it wasn’t a problem if it went away, right? “We’re gonna be here awhile. Let me show you around,” he said, motioning for Rhysa to follow.

Rhysa fumbled with the clasp on the harness and stood hastily, nearly running smack-dab into a wall of beskar. “Take it easy,” the Mandalorian cautioned with just a hint of annoyance coloring his words. He pointed to a closed door on the other side of the ladder. “My quarters are back there; everything else is below.”

They descended to the lower deck, the Child’s pod following. The gunship was sparse so the bounty hunter stood at the ladder and pointed everything out. “Fresher is right there; galley is over that way; carbonite freezer and weapons locker are over here. If you don’t know what it is, don’t touch it because it’ll probably kill you. And this -” He stepped over to a panel in the wall which opened to a small bunk; he had stowed her trunk there earlier. “This is where you’ll stay.”

“This is...mine?”

Rhysa’s flat tone and the hitch in her voice sent another flash of annoyance straight up the Mandalorian’s spine. He couldn’t afford to have a picky houseguest on his hands and turned to Rhysa with a sharp retort at the ready, but the words died on his tongue as he watched her reach out tentatively and run her fingers along the worn mattress. When she met his gaze through the visor, there were tears shining in her eyes. He cleared his throat instead. “Yes. For as long as you’re traveling with me,” he clarified.

She looked to the trunk that held her possessions. “Th-thank you. This is - you do not have to...I am not putting anyone out?”

“No,” he assured her as gently as he could.

She looked back into the cubby. “Are you sure? The little one -”

“Stays with me,” the Mandalorian finished for her.

Rhysa faced him again, her cheeks turning pink. “Thank you,” she said again. “You did not have to -”

The Mandalorian interrupted her again. “It’s fine,” he replied, the gruffness in his voice trying to disguise his embarrassment.

Rhysa lapsed into silence again but the Mandalorian could see the wheels turning behind the slight frown puckering her brow. “How...how am I to repay you?” she asked finally, a bitter taste settling in her mouth. “I do not have any credits.”

The bounty hunter shrugged and turned towards the Child. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

The words left his mouth before he even considered their implication. As he reached for the little one, a stifled whimper drew his attention back to the D’Angeline and his head snapped up in time to see her shrink away from him as far as the confines allowed her. _Osik_.

Even as she drew back from him, Rhysa’s mind cast about for anything she could put between herself and the Mandalorian. She could...she could throw the chest at him -

\- and then what? She was unarmed and he was a _bounty hunter_. She harbored no illusions about his ability to kill; she had seen it firsthand only yesterday. Perhaps she was to meet him in his quarters, he’d shown her where they were. Or maybe he had been sent to apprehend her after all and he’d throw her in carbonite until she could answer for her crimes. _The Child_. What if the little one was his prisoner? Her thoughts began to spiral out of control. Rhysa met his gaze, pupils blown wide. “ _Please_ ,” she whispered, unsure of which outcome she was hoping for.

Mando straightened and the Child let out a soft noise of disappointment as his guardian’s hands withdrew. Instead, the armored man held them up towards the girl, sighing heavily. “Kriff. I didn’t - that isn’t what I meant.”

The only movement from the D’Angeline was her grey eyes darting from his hands to his helmet and back again. A shiver ran down her spine, then another; only when it didn’t stop did she realize how _cold_ she was. She wasn’t dressed for space travel. Her clothes were much better suited to the heat of Tatooine and being up to her elbows in grease. Her knees shook, threatening to buckle, and she sank down to the floor of the ship.

Moving slowly as though he could telegraph his intentions, Mando reached for Rhysa’s trunk, fingers shaking as he struggled with the latch and opened the lid. Just as he had hoped, her blanket was folded on top; he pulled it out and crouched down an arm’s-length away from her. “Here,” he said quietly, holding the blanket out to her as a peace offering. “Rhysa? Look at me.” He waited until it seemed like she was listening before he continued. “I promise I won’t lay a hand on you; I don’t do that. You’re safe with me. Do you understand?”

 _Safe_. She could have laughed. What did that even mean anymore? 

A gentle tap on her knee drew her attention downward. “Gah!” the Child exclaimed, repeating the gesture enthusiastically a second time with both hands.

Rhysa blinked. She hadn’t even seen or heard him crawl out of the pod. Apparently, it was a common enough occurrence because she heard the Mandalorian sigh again. “Knock it off,” he told the little creature, setting the blanket down to try to corral him.

The Child slipped out of his reach, giggling as he darted around Rhysa. Some of the tension eased and the D’Angeline couldn’t suppress the timid smile that tugged her lips upwards. “What is he?” she asked, reaching for the blanket and settling the warm govath-wool around her shoulders.

“Trouble,” Mando groused almost fondly. Another sigh escaped the vocoder. “I’ve never seen his species before.”

“Oh.”

The bounty hunter stood. “Doesn’t seem like anyone knows what he is.”

“What is he called?” Rhysa inquired. “I mean, does he...does he have a name?”

Mando shook his head. “Not that I know of.” Rhysa looked at him quizzically. “It’s a long story,” the bounty hunter explained. He didn’t feel inclined to share the circumstances that brought him and the Child together, not with someone he had just met and not with someone getting off at the next stop. Even the thought of bringing it up again made his skin crawl.

Although, he thought as the pressure around his head made itself known again, that could just be the hunger. Mando tried to think back to when he last ate and grudgingly came up with the answer of _last night_ , after the kid had gone down. He licked his lips beneath his helmet. “I’m gonna leave him with you for a bit, can you keep an eye on him for me?”

Rhysa nodded. This was something familiar, something she could do. She coaxed the little one out from behind her and set him in her lap as the bounty hunter moved towards the galley. She studied him for a minute and...and it felt like _he_ studied _her_ back, little brow creased in concentration. When he reached for her, making as if to grab a lock of hair that had fallen loose, she smiled and tucked it away. “How about a story, then?” she asked, gently bopping his nose before settling him onto her lap. “Have you heard ‘The Dire-Cat and the Two Hunters’?”

_Two hunters, needing funds, and bold,  
A catskin to a furrier sold,  
Of which the beast was living still,  
But which they presently would kill—  
At least they said they would,  
And vow’d their word was good.  
The bargain struck upon the skin,  
Two days at most to bring it in.  
Forth went the two. More easy found than got,  
The dire-cat came growling at them on the trot.  
Behold our hunters both confounded,  
As if by thunderbolt astounded!  
Their bargain vanished suddenly like that;  
For who could plead his interest with a cat?  
One of the companions sprung up a tree;  
The other, cold as ice could be,  
Fell on his face, feigning death,  
And closely held his breath,—  
He having somewhere heard it said  
The dire-cat never preys upon the dead.  
Sir Cat, sad blockhead, was deceived—  
The prostrate man a corpse believed;  
But, half suspecting some deceit,  
He feels and snuffs from head to feet,  
And in the nostrils blows.  
The body’s surely dead, he thinks.  
“I’ll leave it,” says he, “for it stinks;”  
And off into the wild he goes.  
The other hunter, from his tree  
Descending cautiously, to see  
His comrade lying in the dirt,  
Consoling, says, “It is a wonder  
That, by the monster forced asunder,  
We’re, after all, more scared than hurt.  
But,” addeth he, “what of the cat?  
He held his muzzle very near;  
What did he whisper in your ear?”  
“He gave this caution,—’Never dare, in the least  
To sell the skin of the beast  
Who wearing it has not ceased.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations:
> 
> Osik - lit. "dung"
> 
> The story Rhysa recites to the Child is an adaptation of "The Bear and the Two Companions" by La Fontaine; original text can be found here.
> 
> If you're enjoying the fic and the show, come hang out with us on [Discord.](https://discord.gg/jZ7NCzRA.)


	6. Vinca - "Nostalgia"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of our past while we wait for our futures.” -- Ally Condie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mention of past rape/non-con/sexual violence

The Mandalorian listened with half an ear as Rhysa recited the story to the Child while he rummaged through the cabinets for something he could eat. He ground his teeth together as he realized that he either didn’t recognize the foodstuffs or they required more effort to prepare than he wanted to invest. With a barely concealed sigh of relief, his hand closed on a can of bantha-meat stew with dumplings; all it would take was a round in the nanowave to get it piping hot before he could dump it into a thermajug and escape to the cockpit. Mando wrestled briefly with the can opener and slopped the contents into a container; he put the dish in the nanowave and set the timer.

As he waited, his attention drifted back to the D’Angeline’s tale. She had a pleasant voice, soft and low and soothing once she overcame her initial hesitancy and settled into the rhythm of the words. As for those, there was a vague familiarity to them that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t until he actually looked over at Rhysa, who had thrown the blanket with its pattern of woven red bands over her dark hair to keep warm, that his heart skipped a beat and knew _exactly_ where he had heard the story before.

The phantom smell of woodsmoke tickled his nose and drew his thoughts back to the huge clay oven in the kitchen, feeling the warmth it radiated throughout the little house. He sat eagerly on the little wooden stool in front of the oven while his mother cooked, her hair tied back with her shawl to contain it. Her smile was luminous as she looked down at him with fondness, offering him bits to taste and entertaining him with her vast stock of fables and legends as she chopped, stirred, _created_. It was one of the few memories he had of... _before_. The words were different than he remembered but the story - the story was the same. His throat constricted and he told himself it was just hunger that was causing these _emotions_ to surface.

The beeping of the nanowave rescued Mando from his thoughts and he realized belatedly that he had been staring at the D’Angeline; however, she had been too enthralled in her tale to notice. Snatching the stew from inside, he hastily transferred it into the waiting thermajug, sloshing some over the lip and onto his hand. With a hissed expletive (even though the glove took the brunt of the heat), he screwed on the lid and crossed the lower deck in three long strides, pausing at the ladder to glance down at Rhysa. “I need you both to stay down here while I’m eating,” he cautioned, his voice sharper than intended.

Rhysa glanced up quickly, eyes wide and mouth open as though she was about to say something.

Mando winced behind his helmet. “Sorry,” he apologized before Rhysa could. “I...I won’t be long.” Before he could shove his foot any further in his mouth, he escaped up the ladder and into the cockpit.

Rhysa heard the cockpit door hiss shut. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, afraid that she had somehow offended the bounty hunter. Was he self-conscious about eating in front of others? Was he...was he even human? All she knew of Mandalorians was that D’Angelines had stood with them in neutrality during the Republic’s war with the Trade Federation; outside of that, well, her knowledge of any history outside of Terre D’Ange had been limited both before and after her enslavement.

The Child made an enquiring noise and tugged on a strand of Rhysa’s hair that had escaped the blanket, breaking the D’Angeline out of her thought spiral. “ _Oui_ , _mon petit?_ Did you enjoy the tale, hmm?” she asked, running a finger along the soft down of his ear.

With a soft grunt, the little one grabbed her finger with his three-clawed hand and let loose a string of gibberish. “I see,” Rhysa said with feigned solemnity. “Well, I have many others to share; perhaps the next one will be more to your tastes.”

“Eh,” the Child replied, scrunching his nose.

“What? You do not care for my storytelling?” Rhysa stood and shifted the baby so he sat more comfortably on her hip. He smiled and chortled. “Oh, I see; you were only teasing.” Despite herself, Rhysa returned the smile and felt some of the tension ebb out of her shoulders.

Suddenly, the Child latched onto the silver chain around her neck and tugged on it. Panic flared in Rhysa’s chest before she remembered that the necklace had survived rougher treatment ( _and now she had the tools to repair it_ ). She gently extracted the jewelry from the little one’s grasp and tucked both chain and the pendant - a dove with wings and a tail of flame, the symbol of her order - inside her tunic. “Perhaps someday I will tell you _that_ story,” she murmured, the smile fading from her eyes. “It is a lengthy tale.”

The Child trilled what could have been an apology before settling heavily in Rhysa’s arms with a yawn. “What, tired already?” the D’Angeline asked, trying to refrain from yawning herself. She began to pace the length of the hold, humming a soft melody. After the second pass, the little one’s eyelids began to droop; after the third, Rhysa looked up to see the Mandalorian watching her with his head tilted to the side. She stopped in her tracks and waited for him to speak.

Mando beckoned her closer, holding out his arms for the Child as Rhysa drew near. “I’ll trade you,” he offered, indicating the now-empty thermajug by tipping his head toward it.

With a nod, Rhysa handed over the little one and took the cylinder. “I will clean up here and -,” she began.

“I’ll tuck him in,” the Mandalorian started to say at the same time. “You can -” He stopped short, about to say _join me_. He cleared his throat. “You can come up when you’re finished, if you want,” he amended.

Rhysa nodded again and withdrew, waiting as he ascended the ladder once more before she turned to the galley - kitchenette, really, but she wasn’t going to mince words. A quick rinse to get the worst of the food off was all that was needed before she stacked the dishes in the sonic and closed the panel. Wandering over to the ladder, she hesitated at the bottom and glanced around as a rattle sounded beneath the grating. She was about to kneel down to search for the source of the noise when a modulated voice spoke from above. “Are you coming?”

Rhysa’s head shot up. “Yes,” she replied, hurrying up the rungs for the second time that day. Her arms and legs burned with fatigue by the time she reached the top. She sat on the upper deck for a moment as she tried to catch her breath and quell the shaking in her limbs.

After a moment, the Mandalorian reached out to help her to her feet. With great trepidation, Rhysa took his hand and let him haul her up to standing; to her embarrassment, the hallway spun and she swayed forward dizzily. Her whole face flushed a deep pink as the bounty hunter caught her before she could pitch into the side of the ship. “You good?” he grunted after giving her a moment to adjust and regain her balance.

Nodding jerkily, Rhysa stepped back out of his hold. “I am sorry,” she apologized, her voice small. Her fingers tightened on the blanket which had slid down to settle on her shoulders.

Mando sighed. He could barely keep himself and the Child out of trouble, let alone with a recently-freed slave now thrown into the mix; this was why she couldn’t stay. She would slow him down too much. She needed to recover. She needed to go back to Terre D’Ange. “It’s fine,” he replied, guiding her towards the cockpit with a hand between her shoulders. “You should sit, though.”

Rhysa made her way into the transparisteel-enclosed room and collapsed gratefully into the chair that didn’t have the makeshift child seat on it. Remembering her training, she straightened up and waited for the bounty hunter to say something, anything, that she could take a cue from.

The Mandalorian checked a few of the readings on the dash and, content that they were still on course and that the ship wasn’t going to fall apart around them, settled back in his seat. After a few moments of silence, he pulled up a holo map and began muttering under his breath as he studied it, as though Rhysa wasn’t even there. One by one, he began swiping items off a list - quickly at first, then only after careful consideration and a hushed counsel with himself.

Unable to take the silence any longer, Rhysa leaned forward slightly. “May I ask - where are we going?” she inquired haltingly.

“Naboo.” Another item - names of cities, perhaps? - left the list with a lazy flick of his hand. Soon, there was only one left: _Moenia_. Slightly smaller than Theed, Mando thought he should be able to find work there that paid well enough while still flying as under the radar as a Mandalorian, a fifty year old child, and a D’Angeline could.

It would do. For now.

Silence stretched between them in the bright solitude of hyperspace. Rhysa tried to sit still at first but the urge to fidget crept in bit by bit, starting with a subtle curling and flexing of her toes inside her shoes and working its way up to her fingers. She idly drummed them on her knee but stopped immediately once she realized what she was doing and folded one hand over the other to still her restless digits. Eventually, as the quiet lingered, she found herself relaxing into it and almost beginning to _enjoy_ it. Until the bounty hunter finally spoke up. “That story you told the Child...where did you hear it?” he inquired.

“Corellia,” Rhysa answered, surprised first at the attempt at conversation, then that the armored man had been listening to her as she entertained the little one. After a moment’s hesitation, she continued. “But I learned it first on Terre D’Ange. We...it is told a bit differently there.”

The pilot’s chair swiveled so that the Mandalorian could face her. “Why didn’t you tell the D’Angeline version, then?” he asked, not unkindly, simply curious.

The shiver that ran down Rhysa’s spine had nothing to do with the chill in the air; still, she drew her blanket closer around her like a shield. “It was...not encouraged.”

He kept his gaze on the priestess but his hands tightened on his knees to keep from balling his hands into fists. He knew too well what was left unsaid. He knew what it was to give up culture and identity. But something as innocuous as a child’s fable? “I don’t care what stories you tell him,” Mando said with a snort.

Rhysa must have made some noise of acknowledgement - or perhaps she didn’t - because the bounty hunter swung his seat around again, effectively ending the conversation. Another silence descended on the cabin as he fiddled with some of the controls. Then, as though realizing she was still sitting there, Mando glanced over his shoulder and cocked his head in what was almost mild surprise. “You don’t have to stay here,” he told her. “It’s a ways to our destination, you should get some rest.”

“I...are you sure?” Rhysa asked, doubt creasing her brow.

The silver helmet dipped in a nod. “Go rest; you look like you need it. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“All right,” Rhysa agreed timidly. She stood up, one hand on the chair for balance as she waited for the wave of dizziness to pass, then left the cockpit; the door closed behind her.

The D’Angeline wavered for a bit at the top of the ladder, feeling the phantom ache in her shoulders from when she had climbed it earlier. Taking a deep breath, she descended as quickly as she dared. Months of limited rations under Suvan had done a number on her strength and stamina. Before, when she had lived with and worked for Peli, she would spend hours crawling in and around the ships that docked with them for repairs without a second thought. Now, simply moving between decks was enough to leave her winded and trembling.

It would return, she told herself as she stepped away from the support of the wall and headed for the bunk she had been assigned. ‘ _These things take time_ ,’ she heard Peli’s voice say somewhere in the back of her mind. Rhysa sighed to herself and climbed into the narrow space.

The bunk truly was nothing much: a threadbare mattress that had seen better days and a shelf on either side at the far end. One shelf was covered and she tucked her spare clothes, toolkit, and drawing implements inside; the other was open and her salt lamp went on it. Rhysa frowned, inspecting the shelf a little more closely - it seemed like maybe there was supposed to be a panel that slid out, like the one opposite, but it had gotten jammed or broken off. She leaned in closer, fingers probing the track.

“It broke a long time ago.”

Rhysa sat bolt upright with a sharp gasp and faced the Mandalorian filling the doorway. He shrugged and motioned toward the shelf. “There was a panel, I just never bothered to fix it."

Heart in her mouth, Rhysa could only nod mutely in reply. Her grey eyes watched the bounty hunter with no small amount of apprehension as he moved to set a bundle down at the foot of the cot. “Thought you could use an extra layer,” he explained. “It can get cold down here.”

The D’Angeline stammered her thanks, reaching for the folded fabric as the Mandalorian left as silently as he had arrived. Keeping her movements guarded and slow, she climbed under the thin blanket and fluffed the pillow until it was something approaching comfortable. Once she was settled, she drew her blanket into her lap and unfolded the bundle the Mandalorian had left - his cloak, she realized with a pang of something unfamiliar. Rhysa's hands trembled as she wrapped it around her shoulders and burrowed into the warmth.

But sleep didn't come easily to the priestess, despite her exhaustion. It danced tantalizingly around the corners of her mind but wouldn't settle. Everything had happened so fast: one moment, she was in Ghent's bed, trying to _go away_ to the place she went when he was on top of her; the next, the Mandalorian had burst in and afforded her the distraction she needed to shoot Suvan.

 _Elua_. _She had killed someone_.

The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth and her lips twisted into a frown. Yet another sin to add to the growing list of what she would need to atone for - if? when? - she ever returned to Terre D’Ange.

And face what, exactly? As Rhysa saw it, she had two choices: face her punishment on Terre D’Ange or remain in exile. A lump formed in her throat; either way, she would never see her homeland again. It was true, she had never really thought beyond her current master and now...now, everything was so nebulous - there were so many _choices_. How could she, who had never made a decision for herself, choose her own path now?

Rhysa reached out and flicked on the lamp, bathing the compartment in soft pink light. The familiarity brought a measure of comfort and with it, she relaxed into the mattress. Her thoughts still flowed from one to the next like...like the fat, fuzzy bumblebees that drifted from flower to flower in the temple garden. The image made Rhysa smile despite herself; she had watched them for hours at a time as a child, before her formal training had begun. Memories flickered in and out of focus, memories of escaping the watchful eye of the initiate assigned to keep her out of trouble, of crawling through the foliage on her stomach to peer into a nest of rabbits, of dirt and grass staining her white frock to the dismay of the acolytes (who secretly smiled when they thought she wasn’t looking). Lost in her nostalgia, she hovered somewhere between consciousness and oblivion as the words to the lullaby she had shared earlier with the Child made their way to the forefront of her mind.

_Beneath the golden balm_

_Settling on the fields_

_Evening steals in calm_

_And farmers count their yields_

_The bee is in the lavender_

_The honey fills the comb_

_But here a rain falls never-ending_

_And I am far from home_

“The Travellers Lament” was something all D’Angelines learned practically in the cradle. And never, Rhysa thought, never had the words resonated so heartbreakingly _perfectly_ in her soul. If she ever made it home and by some miracle escaped whatever penalty Kushiel saw fit to levy on her, she would never, ever, _ever_ leave again.

But those were thoughts for another day. Humming softly to herself, Rhysa succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'Angeline translations:
> 
> Oui, mon petit? - Yes, my little one?
> 
> A thousand, thousand thanks to kmandofan90 for her beautiful rendering of Rhysa with the Child; check out her Tumblr here.
> 
> Check us out on [Discord.](https://discord.gg/XRkUuZEH.)


End file.
